


yer place or mine??

by foxkillskat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Time Skip, SakuAtsu, dear is a dangerous word, no beta we die like daichi, sakuatsu best friends agenda, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxkillskat/pseuds/foxkillskat
Summary: How does one celebrate a friendiversary?Coffee?  Kissing?  Showering together?Sakusa Kiyoomi has no clue, but he does have Miya Atsumu to help him out.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 185





	yer place or mine??

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall, yer (least) fave redneck rascal, foxkillskat here with a special celebration!!!
> 
> who doesnt love a friendiversary? no better way to let yer friends know ya care than to mark off a day just fer them!! (but maybe stick to coffee... unless... 👀)
> 
> however ya celebrate, enjoy the mess!!!

Today is no different than any other day in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s life. 

He slumps onto the bench facing the running track, chest heavy with exhaustion and mind clear with sharp morning air. His feet itch in his shoes, begging him to continue on and beat Atsumu, but his jellied legs keep him in place.

Finishing off the lap, Atsumu pulls up beside him and wipes his sweaty face on his sleeve. His hair is an absolute mess, fringe stuck to his forehead and rumpled in the back like he never bothered to comb it after climbing out of bed. Knowing Atsumu, he probably didn’t.

“Done already?” he teases, gloating his victory.

“I figured I’d let you win today.” Kiyoomi yanks the cap off his sports drink and tilts it back.

“How nice of ya” —Atsumu flashes a toothy smile— “lettin’ me win on our anniversary.”

“Our what?” Kiyoomi sputters, drink going everywhere.

Before he can even curse, Atsumu is pulling a handkerchief out of his hip pouch and placing it in his hands. Kiyoomi dabs at his face, careful to keep the neon green droplets away from his perfectly white shirt. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks once the mess is contained.

“You don’t remember?” Atsumu places his hand over his heart. “Ow, Omi-kun, that’s cold.”

Kiyoomi glares. “Don’t go making things up.”

“I’m not,” Atsumu insists. “One year ago today we hung out fer the first time!”

“We went to the driving center together because you were too scared to go alone.” Kiyoomi huffs. “I fail to see how that’s any sort of anniversary.”

“I wasn’t scared.” Atsumu sticks his tongue out like a petulant child. “And it’s our friendship anniversary — friendiversary.”

Kiyoomi snorts. “Now that sounds incredibly stupid.”

“Yer incredibly stupid,” Atsumu retorts.

“Is that really the best you can come up with?” Kiyoomi raises a brow.

“I haven’t had coffee yet, ya prickly jerk.” Atsumu pauses to stretch his arms high over his head. “It’s too damn early fer me to come up with good comebacks. Who do I look like? Aran-kun?”

“Excuses, excuses.” Kiyoomi folds the handkerchief, dirtied side in.

“Say,” Atsumu starts, “would ya wanna get some coffee?”

Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose. “Right now?”

“I mean, yeah.” Atsumu props a hand on his hip. “We should celebrate!”

Today was supposed to be like every other day. They were supposed to run until they couldn’t run anymore, then Kiyoomi was supposed to go home, scrub himself clean, and settle into his chair for a good few hours of reading until Atsumu showed up knocking to goad him into some unwanted activity like going to the driving center or the grocery store or the post office. Somehow, Kiyoomi always let himself be dragged along on these errands and, somehow, they always ended up vaguely fun.

But they aren’t supposed to start this early in the morning. They’re supposed to wait until Kiyoomi is ready to face the waking world, the world which begins to come alive by the time he’s hiding away at home.

Somehow, he finds himself nodding. “Fine, but we have to shower first. I’m not going anywhere like this.”

“Together?” Atsumu wags his brows.

“What?” Kiyoomi spits. “Never mind — I’m going home.”

“Aw, I was just jokin’. Don’t get all worked up now thinkin’ ‘bout it.” Atsumu winks.

Kiyoomi squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

“‘Cause no one else loves ya like I do.” Atsumu shoots him a big grin and takes off for the track. “One more lap fer me.”

Love, huh? Kiyoomi watches him go. Is that what this is? 

There’s nothing weird about friends loving each other. He loves Motoya, after all. He also loves Hinata and Bokuto at least a little bit. Atsumu, though, Atsumu is different. Maybe it’s because he’s somehow edged his way into the top spot in Kiyoomi’s life, carved out a number one friend position where there was nothing but solid wall. Or maybe it’s simply because Atsumu always knows the exact words to say to rile him up. There’s a fine line between strong emotions of any kind.

Kiyoomi unfolds and refolds the handkerchief as he contemplates this. Come to think of it, since when does Atsumu carry a handkerchief around? Kiyoomi looks down at it, really seeing it for the first time. It’s new and fresh, save the splatters of electric green marring the white space between the cartoon fox faces. Bleaching it won’t be an option without ruining the print. Kiyoomi frowns as he shoves it in the pocket of his running pants, worrying for no good reason. Knowing Atsumu, he probably doesn’t expect it back.

Huffing and puffing thick clouds of vapor into the crisp air, Atsumu turns the corner of the track headed his way. With each leap he takes, his golden hair bounces and gleams. Even sweaty, even messy it looks as soft as the puffy clouds in the orange sky — touchable, yet so far out of Kiyoomi’s reach. Closer and closer and closer still.

“You daydreamin’ again?” Atsumu asks between breaths as he pulls up, narrowly avoiding collision with Kiyoomi’s outstretched legs.

“I don’t daydream.” Kiyoomi crosses his arms. “It’s called thinking. You should try it some time.”

“Maybe after I have coffee.” Atsumu pulls his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his forehead and Kiyoomi definitely doesn’t stare at the lone freckle a centimeter below his navel. 

Atsumu has a lot of those —spread across his cheeks, dotting his arms, littering his shoulders— but this one is the darkest. The rest only show in the summer, during long days spent playing beach volleyball until they collapse into the hot sand or lounging at the park on a picnic blanket, laughing at the stupid shapes Atsumu sees in the clouds. Kiyoomi misses that summer sun like nothing else.

“Yer place or mine?”

Kiyoomi jolts from his not-daydreaming to Atsumu’s shit-eating grin. “Huh?”

“To shower.” Atsumu smirks like he knows exactly what Kiyoomi had on his mind.

“Mine, of course.” Kiyoomi tilts his head back to look down his nose at Atsumu. “When was the last time you cleaned your shower anyway?”

“I cleaned it this mornin’, I’ll have you know,” Atsumu declares, puffing his chest out. “It’s even cleaner than yers, I bet.”

Atsumu cleaning? Unlikely. Atsumu cleaning first thing in the morning before the sun has come up? 

“Impossible.”

“Come over and see if yer so sure,” Atsumu dares him. “If ya can find fault with it, I’ll pay fer coffee. If not, you buy.”

Kiyoomi isn’t going to let Atsumu win this one too. “Looking forward to my free coffee.”

——

Today is no different than any other day at Miya Atsumu’s apartment. His living conditions are what most would dub an organized mess — everything is sorted, everything is up to some standard of clean, but there’s too much everything. To Kiyoomi, it’s a mess plain and simple.

For someone who supposedly doesn’t need memories, Atsumu sure holds on to it all. He’s got stacks upon stacks of pictures of him with friends, notes passed around all the way back from elementary school, and every birthday card and letter anyone has ever written him. He has trinkets, too, a whole shelf full of them. Little Vabo-chan figurines in all manner of poses, the bottle of sand Hinata brought back for him from his latest Brazil trip, a miniature replica of a bright red torii gate: all scattered between the fallen leaves of his half-dead houseplants.

Plain and simple, the mess makes Kiyoomi’s eyes physically hurt — especially when he sees something he recognizes like the tickets from the time they went to the movies four months ago or the sticky note he stuck to Atsumu’s locker reminding him to clean it out before their last break. Who even keeps things like that? Atsumu has probably held on to everything Kiyoomi has ever given him and all Kiyoomi has is this handkerchief which will be back in Atsumu’s hands soon enough.

It burns a hole in his pocket as he follows Atsumu down the hall, hovering behind him while he flips on the bathroom light for the big reveal. At first glance, it is clean. Cleaner than usual. Clean like he put extra thought into it for some unknown reason. And Atsumu putting extra thought into anything besides volleyball is suspicious.

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at the space where Atsumu’s ten different, half-used face washes usually live. They’re gone, only one remaining. Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at Atsumu’s ridiculous collection of headbands with all manner of different animal eyes and ears hung neatly on the hand towel bar. They’re organized in rainbow color, reddish orange fox followed by a golden cat and a green frog and so on and so on. Kiyoomi crosses his arms at the spotless counter, searching for any of the usual remnants of stubble from Atsumu’s morning shave. There’s not a single hair.

“See?” Atsumu gestures to it all, beaming. “Nice and clean.”

“I haven’t seen the shower.” Kiyoomi steps forward. 

Without warning, Atsumu throws his dirty, sweaty arm around Kiyoomi’s back, same as he does for post-game photo ops. Kiyoomi has half a mind to push him off until those fingers curl around his hip, locking into place. If Atsumu notices Kiyoomi’s breath hitch, he doesn’t make it known. Instead, he throws back the shower curtain to unveil tile and grout and porcelain bleached perfectly white. Exactly as Kiyoomi likes it.

Ignoring the hand at his waist, he sweeps the scene in search of any spot, any stray hair, anything at all to find fault with. There’s none to be found. All Kiyoomi can see is Atsumu on his hands and knees in the tub, scrubbing until it shines. He likes that mental image — maybe a little more than he should.

Atsumu’s fingers press into him, pulling him back. “Whaddya think? Nice, huh?”

“I didn’t know you were capable of cleaning.” Kiyoomi bites the inside of his cheek.

“I can when I want to.”

Atsumu wanting to clean? Absolutely impossible. 

“What made you want to?” Kiyoomi enquires.

Atsumu shrugs, silence permeating.

“Lemme get the towels off the line.” He turns to leave. “You can have first shower” —his arm slips off Kiyoomi’s back— “consider it my anniversary gift to ya.”

“Wait,” Kiyoomi calls after that hand.

Atsumu pauses in the doorway and tilts his head in that way he does, and Kiyoomi forgets what he was going to say, forgets if he had anything to say in the first place.

“I didn’t get you anything,” is all his brain comes up with. Maybe he does need coffee.

Atsumu smiles far too big on his way out. “Yer payin’ fer our coffee date, dear.”

The word ‘date’ slaps Kiyoomi in the face the same time that smile strikes him through, and he’s entirely unprepared for the ‘dear’ sinking into his head and his heart while he’s distracted.

Oh.

Love _is_ what this is.

Oh god. 

Kiyoomi loves that smile and he loves that head tilt and he loves that Atsumu scrubbed his bathroom from top to bottom in the early hours of the morning. Kiyoomi loves Atsumu. More than a friend, more than a best friend.

Oh god no.

Kiyoomi slumps down on the thin edge of the tub, head in his hands. He’s stuck like this, unable to do anything but twist his fingers in his hair and tug on his scalp, unable to think of anything but how he loves his best friend, how he loves his best friend too much.

Oh no.

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu appears with a stack of neatly folded towels in hand. “You okay?”

No.

“When did you start carrying around a handkerchief?” Kiyoomi blurts out. “Why?”

Atsumu looks taken aback. “I dunno, like a week ago?”

“Why?”

“I saw ‘em at the store and thought they were cute.” Atsumu’s cheeks are tinged with pink. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Kiyoomi clarifies. “Why were you carrying it around?”

“Isn’t that what yer supposed to do?” Atsumu tilts his head again —damn him— and sets the towels on the countertop. “You always got one on ya.”

“But you didn’t even use it,” Kiyoomi points out. “You wiped your face on your sleeve like a heathen.”

“What’s all this now?” Atsumu steps closer, peering down at him. “Why are ya all worked up ‘bout a hankie?”

“I’m not worked up.”

“Yeah, ya are.” Atsumu nudges Kiyoomi’s knee with his. “What’s goin’ on, Omi-Omi? Tell me.”

Kiyoomi’s always been blunt. He always says what he means even if it makes him a jerk. The words have a tendency to come out, spill from his lips and enter the world without thought or concern about who they affect. So why are these three any different? Why are they refusing to leave?

“No, I can’t,” is all that comes out. He really does need coffee.

Atsumu crouches in front of him, one hand finding rest on Kiyoomi’s knee for stability. Kiyoomi stares at it, bewildered. Since when did Atsumu get so touchy? Or —even better— since when did Kiyoomi become so accustomed to it he stopped flinching? No answer comes. Thinking on it now, as long as he can remember Atsumu has been edging into his personal space. Closer and closer and closer still.

“Yer my best friend,” Atsumu reassures, “you can tell me anythin’.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head.

“Was that a no to tellin’ me? Or a no to bein’ my best friend?”

There’s no hint of a joke in his voice.

“Are ya breakin’ up with me?” Atsumu cries out suddenly. “On our anniversary too!”

Kiyoomi squints.

And like that, Atsumu’s hand leaves him, slapping to the floor while the other paws at his heart through his shirt. “Yer so cruel, Omi-kun. I’m gonna die right here!”

Kiyoomi really squints.

Atsumu peeks up to check his audience before continuing his dramatics. “Ow, my poor broken heart! What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“Stop it.” Kiyoomi nudges his arm with a slipper clad foot. “You’re so ridiculous.”

Atsumu sits back on his haunches and tilts his head. “But that’s why ya love me.” 

Oh god.

“No—” 

His smile falters.

“That’s not why I love you.” Kiyoomi stares at the bleached white tile as he says it, not brave enough to look anywhere else, at anyone else.

Solid choice, considering how Atsumu laughs. Literally laughs.

“Don’t make fun of me.” Kiyoomi glares at the grout, blaming it for tricking his heart with its immaculacy. Nothing is ever that nice and clean. Nothing is ever that pure.

“I’m not—”

There are fingers pressing into his knee again, pulling him back.

“I’m happy.”

Kiyoomi follows that arm all the way up.

“That’s the first time ya ever said ya loved me.” Atsumu beams, nice and clean and pure. “On our friendiversary, too! How romantic.”

“Stop calling it that.” Kiyoomi swats at his hand. “And get your dirty floor hand off me.”

“Hey, this floor is spotless. I made sure of it.” 

Atsumu’s fingers dig in, curl around the crook of his knee and Kiyoomi jolts. Hard. So hard he slips over the edge and slides into the tub, spine crashing into porcelain.

“Ow.” He rubs the collision point at the back of his neck.

Atsumu hovers over him, gawking while he holds to the edge of the tub between Kiyoomi’s legs. “Yer so fuckin’ clumsy.” He snickers. “It’s almost hard to watch.”

“Shut up.” Kiyoomi struggles to sit up, slipping on the smooth surface. “This is your fault.”

As he straightens, his legs slide against Atsumu’s hands, stealing the smirk right off his face. These contact points between them are their own collision. They draw an audience: two people watching a train wreck, unable to look away as those strong hands forget their hold on the tub, leave it behind for a more tempting target.

Hazy eyed and lost in the silky material of Kiyoomi’s running pants, Atsumu is gone. His lips part as his fingers spread, reaching, stretching, burying deep and high into Kiyoomi’s thighs. They round up over hips to reach his waist, slipping between fabric and flesh.

Only Kiyoomi’s startled yelp brings him back.

“Oh god.” Atsumu jerks his hands away, returning his grip to the tub if only to keep from falling over. “I’m sorry.”

“I—” Kiyoomi starts.

“I’m so sorry!” Atsumu repeats with a shake of his head. “Please don’t hate me. I didn’t mean fer—”

“Will you shut up?” Kiyoomi snaps. 

“I don’t know why I did that. Please don’t be—”

Kiyoomi doesn’t let him finish. He has Atsumu by the shirt, careening over the edge and into the tub. With the crash of their lips, Kiyoomi swallows whatever words he might have said, whatever excuses he could offer. This is their true collision — the one that only occurs from distraction of rubbernecking at another. And it has them both gone, lost in the wake of each other like the air in their lungs. A perfect disaster.

“Oh god.” Atsumu gasps as they break. “Oh Omi—” 

“I love you,” Kiyoomi finally gets out, no coffee needed. “I love you so much, Atsumu.”

The words are no different than any other words, yet they hang there, lingering in the air while they both catch their breath.

“Three times.” Atsumu clears it with a smile. “This is the best friendiversary ever.”

Kiyoomi groans with everything he can muster. “Okay, now I do hate you.”

“Nuh-uh, you love me. You love me so much.” Atsumu leans in until the very tip of his nose brushes Kiyoomi’s. “Ya know what, Omi-kun?”

All Kiyoomi knows is he’s gone cross eyed. “What?”

“I’ve decided to try out thinkin’” —Atsumu rubs their noses together in place of a kiss— “and I think we should make this our anniversary fer real.”

“I thought a friendiversary was a real anniversary,” Kiyoomi teases with the tiniest nuzzle of his own, “or do you admit to making it all up?”

Atsumu pulls back and turns his nose up. “I’ll never admit to anythin’.”

Kiyoomi raises a brow. “Not even that you weren’t joking when you asked to shower together?”

Atsumu’s eyes go wide and his cheeks go red.

“I guess if you were just joking—”

“I wasn’t!” Atsumu interjects. “Would you—” He stamps down his grin. “Do you want to?”

“Isn’t that why you cleaned your bathroom?” Kiyoomi has him now.

“I mean, it’s not like I was expectin’ it or nothin’. I just—” Atsumu glances away, face on fire. 

“It’s cute.” Cute like the fox handkerchief burning a hole in Kiyoomi’s pocket — the one Atsumu is never getting back. “Incredibly cute.”

Atsumu’s eyes find his again, sneak up on him slow and shy. “Yer incredibly cute.”

Kiyoomi has to pull his lips tight to keep his smile in check. “Is that really the best you can come up with?”

Atsumu snorts. Then he leans all the way in, arm sliding around Kiyoomi’s back and nose pressing to his ear. “I still haven’t had my coffee yet, dear.”

With that he’s scooping Kiyoomi up, pulling him out of the tub and into his arms like he weighs nothing at all. Like there’s nothing Atsumu is made for more than this. Like nothing matters besides their embrace. 

Kiyoomi clings to him like nothing else. 

——

Today is no different than any other day in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s life. While the rest of the world lay sleeping, he was awake, alive, running with his best friend by his side.

But today is also so different than every other day of Kiyoomi’s life. Today he stands in the steam of Atsumu’s perfectly clean shower, somehow cleaner than his own. Even better, Kiyoomi isn’t alone. He squints through the thick air, staring at that freckle a centimeter below Atsumu’s navel. So close, yet so far. 

“You daydreamin’ ‘bout me again?” Atsumu’s fringe is soaked through and stuck to his forehead, dripping down his face and his chest.

“I don’t—” Kiyoomi finally registers the words. “Oh. Maybe.”

“Knew it.” Atsumu wags his brows. “You and yer thinkin’ can’t fool me.”

“I was thinking, though,” Kiyoomi insists as he blinks water from his eyes.

“‘Bout what?” Atsumu’s hand curls around his hip, tugging him into the spray and bringing him near. “Tell me, Omi.”

Closer and closer and closer still. He’s entirely in reach, entirely touchable. 

“You’re my favorite.” Kiyoomi’s fingertips graze over the dark little mark, slick and slow. He definitely notices Atsumu’s breath hitch, but he doesn’t make it known. Instead, he presses his thumb to the spot in place of a kiss.

This is what love is. A day like any other, constantly changing, ceaselessly colliding into the next with unstoppable force. There’s no end in sight, no finish line to be found for them, but Kiyoomi isn’t worried about the unknown. Chest heavy with love and mind clear with sharp understanding, all he wants to do is keep running with his best friend by his side. All he needs to do is to keep loving Miya Atsumu.

For their anniversary. For today. And for every other day for the rest of their lives. 


End file.
